


Under The Mistletoe

by N1ghtWr1ter, RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant (except for you know what), Canon Universe, Christmas, F/F, Fingering, Humor, Kissing, Mistletoe, Oral, Oral Sex, Vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/pseuds/N1ghtWr1ter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: While out for a walk in the woods, Clarke spots a very interesting plant she learned about in her Earth Studies class. She brings it back to show Lexa, with enjoyable results.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! Please check out our tumblrs @raedmagdon and @n1ghtwr1ter

The cold air stabbed at Clarke's lungs as she crunched through the snow, but she smiled despite the threat of splitting her chapped lips. Her breaths came quickly and her cheeks were flushed with pink, but she didn't slow her step. She had lived on the Ark for seventeen years, watching the earth spin beneath her, but never really seeing it - not like this. Now it was winter, and without the constant threat of hunger to gnaw at her belly, she could actually take the time to slow down and enjoy the sights.

And what sights they were. The branches were coated in lacy layers of silver frost. Icicles hung from the sturdier boughs, little rainbows shining within them. Everything was beautiful and bright despite the chilly wind swirling around her, and every bit of sunlight seemed magnified in this glittering white world.

This was worth strapping on some snowshoes and trekking through the mountains for. It was lovelier even than the crowded, bustling markets of Polis, with warm, steaming drinks at every stand and the glowing light of candles late in the evening. This was the Earth she had longed for, both wild and welcoming. This was the kind of peaceful solitude she had never been granted on the Ark, made even more peaceful with the knowledge that by evening, she would return to Polis and to Lexa.

Lexa, who loved the awe she held for everything she discovered. Lexa, who tolerated plenty of rambling about the 'new world' she had spent her whole life fighting to survive in. Lexa, who never complained when she left to be on her own, but was always ready to welcome her back.

_ Lexa... _

A smidge of green caught Clarke's gaze, and for a moment, she thought she was imagining Lexa's eyes. It wasn't so—there was life beneath the thick frosting of snow, and not just bristling pine needles either. She turned, stepping closer to the bush that had caught her attention. No, not a bush. It was a cluster of what looked like green foliage draped over the low-hanging branch of an oak tree. Dots of red stood out against it, bright as droplets of blood, and Clarke realized that they were berries.

A name whispered at the edge of her mind:

"Mistletoe."

She knew that plant. She had learned about it in her Earth Studies classes. The berries were poisonous. which was why they had learned about them in the first place. They were parasitic, living on host trees instead of growing themselves. But there was something else about it... some of the other families had used cheap plastic replicas as decorations, since water on Farm Station had been far too scarce to grow a useless plant. What had her father told her?

_ Kissing _ . People were supposed to kiss under bunches of mistletoe for good luck, or so he had said. Family members, lovers...

Clarke smiled, feeling much warmer, and plucked a sprig from the branch. Tucking it into her pocket, she turned and headed back the way she had come. She had done enough sightseeing for one day, and she missed Lexa's embrace.

* * *

When Clarke entered Lexa’s study, flushed with the tower’s warmth but still feeling the sting of the outside chill, Lexa’s head rose from where it had been buried in reports from the farthest-flung regions of her lands. There was trouble brewing, Clarke knew, in the outer territories, on the rim of civilization. Nomadic tribes were raiding the border villages, carrying off livestock and, sometimes, people. Lexa would soon need to ride out to the edge of the wastes and deal with the marauders—but not today. Today, Clarke thought as she slipped into the cozy room, glowing with the light of far too many candles, Lexa was hers.

“How was your expedition?” Lexa asked, a smile stretching across her face. “Did you make any new discoveries?” 

Her tone contained a gentle tease, but Clarke couldn’t help beaming anyway. “Actually, I did.” She drew the sprig of mistletoe from where she had concealed it in her pocket and held it above her lover’s head with a triumphant air. “You know what this means!” she crowed. 

Her grin faded when Lexa didn’t rise to kiss her, but instead looked puzzled. “No, Clarke. I’m sorry, but I do not.” The Commander frowned at the plant in Clarke’s hands before standing up to pluck it from her fingers.  _ “Kissintri?”  _ she said after examining it for a long moment, turning to Clarke with a quizzically raised eyebrow. “You know that these berries are poisonous?”

Clarke huffed. “Yes, thank you, I’m not an idiot. But you’re not supposed to eat them; you’re supposed to kiss whoever’s under them with you.” When Lexa’s frown only deepened, Clarke sighed.  _ Well, I guess that’s one tradition that hasn’t survived on the ground, even if mistletoe has.  _ “Around this time of year, we had a tradition of hanging sprigs of mistletoe—fake ones, anyway—in the doorways of the Ark. If you wind up standing under one of them with somebody, you’re supposed to kiss them for good luck.” 

When Lexa continued to look puzzled, staring intently at the green sprig in her hands, Clarke felt a flush creep up the back of her neck. “Whatever, it’s stupid,” she muttered, making to turn away. She didn’t want to think about why it bothered her that Lexa didn’t understand why this was important to her—it was just a silly game people played, trying to catch their crushes and loved ones under bunches of fake green leaves. But Lexa’s slim fingers braceleted her wrist before her thoughts could run any further. 

“Wait.”

When Clarke turned, Lexa was wearing a shy smile and holding the mistletoe above her own head. “I believe you owe me a kiss,  _ Klark kom Skaikru.”  _

Warmth glowed in Clarke’s belly, and she stepped forward eagerly. “I believe you’re right.” Their lips met and heat spread from Clarke’s chest all the way through her body, chasing out the last of the winter’s chill. Lexa’s mouth was soft, and when she dropped Clarke’s wrist to take hold of her waist instead and pull her closer, Clarke was more than happy to mold her curves against Lexa’s own. 

Eventually, they had to stop for breath, but the heat remained, concentrated most powerfully between Clarke’s legs. “I think you’re getting the hang of our traditions, Commander,” she said, a little breathlessly.

Lexa hummed, looking unconvinced.  “I’m not sure,” she murmured, eyes darkening with desire. “You said that if you find yourself under the mistletoe, you have to kiss whomever...or whatever...you find there?” 

Clarke nodded, not entirely certain where her lover was going with this, but sure she would enjoy it either way. To her surprise and delight, a smirk crept across Lexa’s lips as the Commander stepped away and sat back down in her chair. At first she held the mistletoe over her head, and Clarke moved closer, wanting to feel Lexa’s lips moving against hers again. But then Lexa lowered the green sprig down her body, her smirk growing and turning positively lascivious, until it rested against the laces of her pants. 

Clarke’s jaw dropped at the forwardness of the gesture. Her lover could be forceful in bed, but she ordinarily did not take such initiative unless Clarke asked it of her. This was new behavior for Lexa, but it was most certainly not unwelcome. At the first sign of uncertainty on her lover’s face, Clarke hastened forward, eager to reassure her. “You’re right, I did say that,” she purred, and watched Lexa’s eyes grow wide as she slowly sank to her knees before her Commander. “It would be terrible luck for me not to follow the tradition.” 

"Luck. Yes..." In a slow and deliberate motion, Lexa rested her elbows on her chair's armrests. Then, with even more exaggerated care, she spread her legs. The sprig of mistletoe remained resting on her lap, perched precariously on the fastenings of her pants.

Clarke didn't let it fall. She leaned forward and caught the stem between her teeth. It was slightly bitter, but mostly tasteless, like grass—certainly no comparison to the nectar she was about to sample. She continued grinning just long enough for a flicker of impatience to appear in Lexa's eyes, then let the mistletoe drop into her own lap.

The next time she dipped her head forward, she brought her hands with her to undo the knots and ties. Sadly, that wasn't something she could do with her mouth alone. Still, she breathed a light sigh of satisfaction as she caught a peek of fresh skin and a few dark, wispy hairs. She started dusting kisses along Lexa's belly, lavishing the exposed strip of flesh with the gentlest attention possible.

One of Lexa's hands abandoned its armrest to guide the top of her head as the other gripped harder. "A proper kiss, Clarke," she said, a request verging on an order.

"I'm getting to it," Clarke murmured. Although she appreciated Lexa's attitude, she was unwilling to be rushed. She cupped her hands over Lexa's hips, enjoying the heat that radiated from her lover's body and into her palms. It was the same heat that warmed their bed so comfortably every night, a flame Clarke wanted to feed further.

She removed Lexa's pants bit by bit, peeling them away slowly enough to satisfy her inner tease, but quickly enough to keep from being scolded. It was a near miss, though, because Lexa's nails dug ever so carefully into her scalp, not quite pulling her hair, but giving the awareness of pressure.

The sight and scent that hit her as she finished easing Lexa's pants down to her knees was wondrous enough to rival the winter forest. Though the triangle of hair pointing to the juncture of Lexa's thighs was dark, and surprisingly soft as it tickled the tip of Clarke's nose, the pouting pink lips beneath were bare. They were slick and shimmering with wetness, clear in some places, pearly white in others. It almost reminded Clarke of the snow dripping from the tree branches, and her mouth watered as she closed it over as much of Lexa as she could.

Lexa gave a low hum of approval. "Yes,  _ niladon _ ..." Clarke felt the fingers at the back of her head flex, still not quite gripping, but close to it. Still, she barely noticed. Liquid heat was coating her lips and flowing into her mouth, not like snow at all, but rather closer to fire. Lexa was sweeter than the sweetest midwinter wine, with warmth enough for her whole body.

Clarke swiftly determined to earn herself more. She extended her tongue, letting it tease apart Lexa's inner lips in search of her lover's entrance. Even if she hadn't felt the pulsing heat envelop it, Clarke would have known from the way Lexa gasped above her and canted her hips just so. The stiff bud of Lexa's clit was red and round, nudging insistently at her nose, but Clarke ignored it deliberately. She had agreed to this—had started it, in fact—but she wasn't going to make it too easy, either.

Lexa was clearly not too pleased with her teasing, but she was also in no position to complain. Clarke reveled in the grunts and whimpers and soft huffs of impatience that her lover made as she thrust her tongue inside of Lexa, delving as deep as she could in search of more tangy sweetness. The Co hips jerked against her face as she hit a particularly pleasurable spot, and Clarke did her best to reach it again and again, ripping a groan from Lexa’s throat. 

At last, however, the Commander would not be denied. The fingers in her hair tightened, guiding her gently but firmly upwards. Clarke felt a rush of wetness between her own thighs at the subtle gesture of control, and decided that she was done teasing. Lexa had already been quite flexible this evening in exploring this new  _ Skaikru  _ tradition, and Clarke was determined to reward her efforts. When her tongue brushed the needy, twitching bud of Lexa’s clit, she pressed a kiss to its head, and then sealed her lips around it, beginning to suck. 

“Clarke,  _ yes,”  _ Lexa hissed, her hips shifting against Clarke’s face in search of more stimulation. Fresh pulses of wetness slipped out of her in response to Clarke’s lashing tongue, and while she badly longed to chase them, Clarke was more invested in bringing her lover to orgasm. 

And Lexa certainly appeared to be heading there rapidly. Her hips continued rolling against Clarke’s mouth, and her fingers clenched tighter and tighter against the back of Clarke’s head. Clarke gloried in it, in the signs of Lexa’s unrestrained ardor, and in being surrounded by Lexa’s smell and taste. She could feel Lexa’s thighs drawing closer around her head, threatening to cut off the sounds of her pleasure, the moans and soft cries and low whines that told Clarke her release was near. 

But there was something missing, she realized. Lexa hung on the edge, her body arched towards Clarke’s mouth and her own hanging open, eyes squeezed shut in ecstatic agony, but she needed something else to push her over. Eager to taste the flood that she would earn when Lexa came, Clarke brought a hand up and tested her lover’s entrance with two fingers. When she met no resistance, she slid them inside and curled up, searching for the swollen spot on Lexa’s front wall that she knew was likely pounding with unreleased pressure. 

The effect was instantaneous. Lexa screamed, her entire body drawing into a taut line against Clarke’s lips and tongue. Her hips thrust wildly as Clarke continued to curl her fingers, coaxing pulse after pulse of her lover’s release to spill down her chin. Clarke caught it all on her tongue, delighting in being surrounded by Lexa’s taste and scent and the sounds of her pleasure. 

As powerful as her orgasm was, eventually it had to end. Lexa slumped bonelessly in her chair, head tilted back and chest heaving, as Clarke continued to clean the last weak pulses from her folds. With a groan, Lexa pushed at her head. “Please, Clarke...no more.”

With a final swipe of her tongue along the length of her lover’s slit, Clarke sat back on her heels, a satisfied smile stretching across her mouth. “So, what do you think of our traditions?” she asked, when she saw Lexa crack one eye open to look down at her. 

Despite her lassitude, Lexa returned her grin. “I think you  _ Skaikru  _ might be onto something,” she replied, her words a little bit slurred. But she appeared to be recovering, as she swiftly surged upward, drawing Clarke with her. Lexa kissed her deeply, exploring Clarke’s mouth and tasting herself on Clarke’s tongue. She turned them around, urging Clarke to sit in the chair she had abandoned. “However,” she purred as she sank to her knees, “your traditions are still fairly new to me. I would like to make certain I explore them  _ very  _ thoroughly, if you are willing.”

Clarke’s stared into the deep green of Lexa’s eyes, shining up at her from between her legs. “That sounds perfect,” she said sincerely as Lexa reached for her zipper.    



End file.
